


Afternoon

by ValeCimmerian



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 12:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19745884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValeCimmerian/pseuds/ValeCimmerian
Summary: A lazy afternoon in the bookshop.





	Afternoon

It was the kind of day that nobody remembers. A haze of warmth and comfortable silences, the kind of day that by nightfall makes you wonder what on earth you did with all that time. These were Aziraphale's favourite kind of days (and Crowley's too, though he'd never quite admit to it). On this particular morning, on one of these such days, Aziraphale found Crowley already asleep on the sofa in his back room. He'd come in to fetch a book, to read in the sunlight that fell just so through the east window, right where he'd positioned an armchair most would call antique (Crowley just called it old), and as he walked in he saw the limbs of his favourite demon strewn across the sofa, eyes shut and face more peaceful than when Aziraphale saw it awake. Of course, if he had been able to see Crowley's face when he wasn't looking, Aziraphale would think differently. 

Aziraphale paused, just for a moment, to gaze at the way the sun hit Crowley, still as he was. The angles and shadows of his elegant face were thrown into greater relief by the golden light, soft lashes gently brushing his cheeks. A faint smile turned up the corners of his mouth, and Aziraphale wondered what Crowley could be dreaming of to make him smile so. A hand was carelessly thrown over the back of the sofa, palm up and vulnerable, and somehow Aziraphale couldn't resist touching his fingertips to his demon's. Nothing happened. No earth-shattering voice, no discorporation, just flutters in his heart and a wish that Crowley were awake. Aziraphale breathed out, unaware of how appropriately angelic he looked right then with the gentle morning sun streaming through his wild blonde hair, framing his shoulders like some Grecian bust, and Crowley awoke. 

Aziraphale moved fractionally away from Crowley, who appeared to have lost the ability to speak, and was instead staring awe-struck at Aziraphale.   
'Angel, were you- Did you- I- I think you're glowing' He finished coherently. Aziraphale smiled faintly, not quite making eye contact, and moved to go and fetch the book he came for.  
'My dear, I think you might still be drunk.'   
Crowley twisted around on the sofa to follow Aziraphale's movements, limbs tangled and clothes not quite on straight.  
'No, Aziraphale, I ssswear you were...'   
Aziraphale turned around, holding the book he was searching for (Elizabeth Browning's collected works, first edition), to see a familiar snake coiled on his sofa where Crowley had been. Aziraphale smiled.   
'I know, my dear. Come with me?' As he walked past, he held out a hand. Crowley coiled himself around the angel's arm, resting his head on his shoulder as Aziraphale walked towards his armchair. The snake slowly closed his eyes in contentment. Aziraphale sat down, arranging himself so that Crowley sat directly under the warmth of the sun, curled on the arm of the chair. 

And there they stayed, the entire day. Aziraphale, sat in the dying beam of the sun with dust mites swirling in their gentle waltz around him, reading poetry. One hand gently turning the pages, the other stroking the top of Crowley's scaled head, gently murmuring about particularly interesting lines to the dozing demon as the day went on, and if there was a hissing sound confessing of affection when the last of the sun finally disappeared behind the london skyline, Aziraphale did not remark upon it but simply smiled.


End file.
